Chapter Text
"Ma'am, I’m afraid we don’t have a Curly Shepard registered to this practice,” the receptionist said.
“I know, they’re from out of state. He’s my nephew; I am looking after him while my sister is having surgery,” Mrs. Curtis told the woman.
Something crystallized in Tim at those words. He let out a breath—one he didn’t even know he had been holding. As he looked up at Mrs. C, lying to the receptionist to protect them and help them, images flashed through his mind.
The snack bars she left him on the bench after every baseball practice...
The food parcels she left out for them...
The Christmas presents; the gloves Curly wore so proudly...
The way he saw her console, Soda, when he fell over and scraped his knee...
The way Dally’s face softened when she spoke and how he beamed under her praise...
The way Curly clung to the stuffed animal, she won him at the fair...
The way she put down the phone and stayed with them.
When he looked up, a doctor was talking to Mrs. C and holding a packet.
“He needs three doses a day for a week, and then he’ll be fine,” the doctor said.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Curtis smiled at him, hoisting Curly back up into a carry. “Come on, you lot; we better call your mom. She’ll never let me babysit again,” Mrs. C chucked, ushering him and Angela out the door.
When they got outside, Tim looked up at her.
“What’s wrong, honey?” She asked, concerned, and crouched down.
He looked at her, her kind, benevolent face smiling at him. But she blurred out of focus as tears filled his eyes and a soft sob escaped him.
"Oh, honey,” Mrs. Curtis gasped, reaching out and wrapping him in her arms tight as he cried into her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Tim; Curly’s going to be okay,” Angela said, looking terrified at her big brother breaking down before her.
Tim shook his head; that’s not why he was crying. It wasn’t because Curly was going to be okay; it’s because they all were. Mrs. Curtis hadn’t just gained their trust that day; she had gained them.
~
As they arrived back at the Curtis house, Mrs. Matthews was just loading the boys into the car. She rushed over to Mrs. C.
“We need to go.” She said immediately, reaching out to take Curly from her, “I’ll look after Curly.”
Mrs. Curtis’ heart dropped.
The pull.
She had been so busy, she had forgotten about the pull.
~
“Sodapop and Steven, I will not tell you again!” Mrs. Curtis called across the park from where she sat on the bench, “No throwing sand!” She warned the pair of three-year-olds.
"It's not sand, it's superhero powder!” Soda retorted, launching another handful at Steve, who laughed, reaching down to pick up his own handful.
"Well, you can’t throw that either,” Mrs. Curtis told them.
"Yes, you can. Look!" Steve said, throwing a handful straight at Soda.
They continued their sand fight happily, throwing stronger and harder every time.
“Boys enough! We will not come to the park if you can’t be trusted to listen.” Mrs. C said, starting to raise her voice.
Through the dust storm of sand that had been created, nobody saw the small boy emerge from behind the climbing frame. They didn’t notice him until sand from either side collided with him and knocked him off his feet.
“Boys!” Mrs. Curtis exclaimed, jumping to her feet and running over, “Go sit on that bench, now!” She told Soda and Steve firmly before she crouched down to the trembling little boy.
He looked up at her, terrified, flinching at her every movement.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
"Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to be sorry; are you okay?” Mrs. Curtis asked, gently brushing him down. She glanced over her shoulder, ready to apologize to yet more parents about the antics of her boys. But there was no one there.
“Honey, where’s your mommy?" Mrs. Curtis asked.
“Please don’t tell her,” the boy exclaimed, going completely white and tears filling his eyes.
Mrs. Curtis was slightly taken aback.
“Oh, no, honey, it’s okay.” She said, reaching out to rub his back, "Oh, sweetheart, you’re shaking,” Mrs. Curtis realized.
“Mom, can we go play again now?” Soda whined from where he and Steve were hanging off the bench impatiently.
“No! You’re both in timeout; I want you both to come over here and apologize to” She began, looking back at the small boy, “What’s your name, sweetie?” She asked.
“Johnny,” he replied shyly.
Mrs. Curtis smiled.
“I want you both to come and apologize to Johnny, please,” she instructed, standing back up and holding out her hand to pull Johnny to his feet.
Soda did a flying leap off the bench and bounced over; Steve seemed more reluctant.
“Umm, Steven, when your mommy asks me if you were a good boy, I will have to tell her you wouldn’t say sorry,” Mrs. Curtis said, raising her eyebrows.
Steve tutted but reluctantly stood up and strolled over.
“Sorry,” Steve mumbled.
"Sorry, Johnny,” Soda said, still bouncing. “Do you want to play?” He asked enthusiastically, stepping closer to Johnny, who backed away slightly.
“Soda, calm down,” Mrs. C told him. “I think Johnny might want to sit quiet for a minute; you two shocked him a bit,” she said.
“Can we go play now?” Steve asked, his impatience building.
“Okay, but if there’s any more throwing sand, we will be going straight back to the house,” Mrs. Curtis told them.
The three-year-olds charged off, and she turned back to Johnny.
“Do you want to come and sit on the bench with me, honey?” She suggested, “I got some water and cookies,” she told him.
Johnny looked unsure, but in the other direction, the boys were shouting noisily and playing some sort of rough-and-tumble game, so Mrs. C seemed like the preferable option.
As he climbed up onto the bench next to her, still keeping a bit of distance between them, she brought out a packet of cookies and a juice box.
“You like apple juice?” Mrs. Curtis asked.
"Yes, please,” Johnny mumbled. “Do I have to pay?” He asked worriedly.
“Oh no, no, call it compensation for being knocked over by those two idiots,” Mrs. C chuckled, holding out the packet of cookies.
Johnny’s trembling hand reached out and carefully took one. Mrs. C smiled at him, and he smiled back, nibbling on his cookie and sipping some juice. Was this what a mom was supposed to be like?
“Steven, what are you doing?” She called across the park, and Johnny got ready to run as she stood up, hands on hips.
“Come here, please,” she said firmly, pointing to the ground in front of her.
Johnny tensed up, watching in horror; all Mom’s were the same.
“No!” Steve whined.
“1…..2……” Mrs. C began to count.
Johnny’s heart was pounding out of his chest as he watched Steve stomp over, pouting. Why didn’t he run? Maybe Steve didn’t know you should run? But Johnny was too terrified to tell him; he knew what happens when you answer back or try to prevent the inevitable.
As Steve reached her, Mrs. Curtis pulled him to stand in front of her as she sat down on the bench.
“What did I tell you about throwing stones up at the trees?” She asked him.
“Hurt the birds,” Steve mumbled grumpily, pouting.
“That’s right, so you best not do it,” Mrs. Curtis told him.
Steve whined.
“You need a nap, grumpy,” Mrs. C chucked.
“No, I don’t!” Steve argued.
Johnny gasped slightly; surely Steve had done it now; Johnny had never dared argue with his parents like that.
But Mrs. C just lifted Steve to sit in her lap.
“Come on, mister, where’s that smile?” She coaxed, tickling under his chin.
Steve tried to resist, but as she started tickling him, he couldn’t help but giggle.
“There it is!” Mrs. C exclaimed happily; she bounced him up and down on her legs for a minute, which he enjoyed.
“You going to be a good boy and go play with Soda, or do we need to go home and you have a nap?” She inquired.
"I'll be good,” Steve told her.
"Ah, that’s my good boy,” Mrs. C praised, kissing him on the top of the head and then lifting him down.
Johnny watched in a mix of shock and awe. What the hell had just happened? Was this what a mom was really like? Mrs. Curtis turned to see him looking at her.
“You finished your cookie; do you want another one?” She asked him kindly.
Johnny shook his head. He didn’t want a cookie; he wanted whatever the hell he had just seen.
Mrs. Curtis smiled at him; it was like she could read his mind.
“How about you keep me company for a bit? While they play?” She suggested.
Johnny nodded, turning back to look out at the park.
He felt the bench creek slightly; Mrs. Curtis slid along a little bit closer to him. He looked down; her hand was holding out for his.
Hesitantly, he hovered his over hers, unsure of what to do next—he hadn’t done this before. Once again, he didn’t need to worry; her hand clasped his, and for the first time ever, he didn’t flinch at the physical contact. There was no pain, no scars left behind, and his heart beat slowly and calmly.
BEAT
BEAT
BEAT
BEEP
BEEP
The same hands were entwined. She was holding onto him, but this time there was no mind to read.
Despite what the doctors were saying, “He went too long without oxygen; he no longer has any brain activity; he can’t come back now,” she could still feel him.
He was distant, but he was there. Johnny had brought her here; he was still there and could find his way home. She just needed to help him; she needed to find him. He wasn’t in the brain activity, but he was somewhere, and no search and rescue could ever outweigh the strength of maternal magnetism.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, honey, but I’m here now. I heard you, and I’m here now. So you come back to me, baby,” Mrs. C said strongly, despite the tears rolling down her face as she sat down in the chair beside him.
They had taken out his breathing tube; he was attached to a machine, administering drugs to keep him free of any pain over what the doctors were calling ‘the final hours’.
Mr. Curtis had taken the rest of the boys out to the hospital grounds; it wasn’t fair to let them see this. They hadn’t told them what was going on; wanting to give them as long as possible being blissfully ignorant; they knew their worlds would come crashing down when they found out. They couldn’t do that to them, not until they had to.
“How about you keep me company for a bit? Why do they play?” She whispered.
A tiny jolt happened on the monitor.
“Nurse!” Mrs. Curtis called, jumping up and explaining what she had just seen. Although the nurse didn’t spring into action the way she had been anticipating, Mrs. Curtis hope vanished as quick as it had come.
“I’m afraid that’s to be expected; there will be activity in the body as the life support slowly eases off, but don’t worry, the drugs will prevent any pain. Johnny is already sleeping peacefully,” she assured Mrs. C.
Mrs. Curtis sat back down, taking back Johnny’s hand. The machine was level again. But she had felt that jolt. She had felt Johnny in the moment.